Ketchup and Muffins
by M.G. Monticello
Summary: In which Mack sings randomly, tries his hand at comedy, and battles bloodthirsty insects- all while doing his job. Humanized one-shot.


**Hello world! This is my first fanfic, so be nice please. **

**I was seized with an idea and had to stay up past midnight writing it...YAWN**

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Four hours down. Six to go.

We're on a long stretch of road lined with pine trees, billboards, and dead deer. I'm driving fast without it being illegal, because you know, I like to be careful. I'm truck driver for the World's Fastest Racing Machine after all, as Harv would say.

A few times McQueen's sat up front and we talked each others ears off. I think I really annoyed him with all those knock-knock jokes, cause now he stays in his trailer and mostly only talks to tell me to go faster. Hasty, hasty.

I press the intercom. "Are ya there, kid?" No answer. "Kid?" He must be asleep. That's probably a good thing considering what's coming up tomorrow, he needs rest. The biggest race of his life. So far. He's got a very bright future. Bright as in millions of cameras flashing and stardom.

Me? I'm just a truck driver. Used to haul Rusteez. But hey, I'm not complainin', not at all.

These cross-country drives are somethin' else though, except for the scenery. I've seen prairies and mountains, cities and boulders that look like they're gonna fall right down and squash ya if you get too close. Not to mention mile long traffic jams. But it gets darn boring. Making faces in the mirror is amusing for a while, until I start getting queer looks and my cheeks start to hurt.

I begin to hum aimlessly, throwing in whatever happens to pop up.

_Do you know the muffin man, the muffin man, the muffin man._

_Do you know the muffin man, who lives on Drury Laaaaane._

How about _that_ for random, eh? I haven't even thought about that song for ages. Muffin. That sounds good. Muffins with ketchup. Ketchup on a hamburger. Hamburger with pickles and onions and cheese and mustard. Oh yeah, and horseradish sauce. And fries. I like putting the fries on the burger. Darn, I'm really hungry now! The next town is probably miles away. McQueen wants to get there A.S.A.P. And he wouldn't like me stopping.

_Oh I drive a rusty can, a rusty can, a rusty can._

_Oh I drive a rusty can, it breaks down all the time._

Can... I'm suddenly reminded of the coke I left in here a week ago. Oh good, there's one left.

One should never leave unopened cans of pop in the truck when driving through cold climates. Ya know what happened when I did that? It froze and exploded, and I opened the door the next morning to find brownish crystals stuck to the seat, steering wheel, and anything else within hazardous distance. It took forever to clean up and I swear some places are still sticky. Ya learn from mistakes, but that doesn't stop you from making them.

The coke is warm, but who cares?

About ten minutes pass and I'm really bored. It's a good thing we're not traveling at night cause I can be a bit of a dream-weaver.

I reach over and turn on the CB, which lets out a blast of static before I manage to clear it up.

"...but I never told her it was actually a fake diamond."

"Dude! She didn't notice?"

"Nope. Saved a heckuvalotta beaver bait too."

Party's over guys. I pick up the mike and give my two cents. "AhEM. YOU WILL BE ASSIMMILATED. RESSISTANCE IS FUTILE."

...

The other truckers go so quiet you would think they had suddenly died and slumped over at the wheel. I can see the two semis ahead though, going straight and slightly below the speed limit if all the cars passing them are any indication.

"WE ARE THE BORG. YOU AND YOUR SPECIES WILL BE ADDED TO OUR COLLECTIVE. RESSISTANCE IS FUTILE."

Hmm, I don't sound as deadly as I had hoped. The truckers remain silent so I think for a moment and bestow more words of wisdom. "I once shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got in my pajamas, I don't know. Heheh. Last night I lay down in bed, staring at the stars, and I remember thinking...where the heck is my ceiling?" I chuckle for a bit and a voice comes back.

"Radio runt."

"Alligator station." says the other guy with a Mexican accent.

"Yeah, so shut up and let us talk, huh?"

"Hey, I'm bored." I say, "Doesn't anyone around here have a sense of humor?"

The Mexican pipes up. "My wife ran away with it." He laughs.

"Yeah, my dog ate mine. Now all he does is tell dumb cat jokes."

They launch into conversation. Eventually I say, "You guys ever try slamming a revolving door?"

...

"Crazy."

"Turkey."

"Hey! That's _Mr. Evil Dr. Porkchop_ to you!"

"Whatever."

"Adios."

And I'm left with the hail-on-a-tin-roof sound of light static. Ah well. Practicing movie impressions is more fun if someone is listening.

_Bzz._

_Bzzt!_

_BZZZT!_

Wha? A fly? How did a fly get in here? Whoa, it's a big one. Huge. I wonder...

I roll up a magazine that was stuffed next to my seat and wield it menacingly. The fly buzzes around so fast it must be hopelessly dizzy and I could have sworn it just rolled it's eyes at me.

_Whap_!

"Take that, fiend!"

_Whap!_

"And that!"

It circles my head and bumps into the door window, then lands on the steering wheel. I take careful aim. "Hyaaah!"

_Whap!_

Aw, missed. Where'd it go? The big fly has seemingly disappeared, probably laughing his head off. I steer with one hand and grip the magazine tightly in the other.

_Bzz!_

Behind me! Now it's all over the dashboard doing mad acrobatics. I lean forward and take some wild shots, missing completely. "I will get you, fly..." I tug down the front of my hat.

There he is.

On my empty pop can, attracted to the sugar.

This is it.

I will get that fly.

Aim.

Ready.

And. FIRE-!

_**BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!**_

The loud horn blares at the same time the aluminum can clanks out of the cupholder and onto the floor. My head snaps up and I push the front of my hat out of my face in time to narrowly avoid hitting a pick-up loaded with hay bales. Boy, that was close!

For the next few moments I sit bolt upright with both hands glued to the wheel and both eyes glued to the road.

I relax a little when a familiar voice sounds over the intercom.

"Mack? What was that?"

"Er...nothin' I couldn't handle."

"Riiiiight. So how much longer?"

"We're about halfway. Are ya nervous?"

"For what?"

He sounds tired. Poor kid. "Ya know, the turning point in your racing career!"

"Oh, yeah. I mean-! No, not nervous, no...sort of."

"Don't worry, you'll do fine. Come on, hit me with it."

"Kachow."

"Aw, kid. You've got more than that!"

"Fine. Kachow!kachow!kaaaaaaaaaaaCHOW!" McQueen fires it off.

"That's more like it. Say, you don't mind if I stop off and get a burger up here, huh?"

"Nah, go ahead."

"Thanks. You want anything?"

"Uh...no."

Yep, he's nervous. "Alright, kid. See ya." I turn off the comm and flip on the radio in one move.

Five hours down. Five to go. Keep your rubber down and your metal up, and I'll see you at the Piston Cup.

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**So, what say you? I tried to keep Mack in character but I hope he didn't act too crazy...I'm not so happy with the ending either. Please review! ;^D**


End file.
